Strawberry Fields Forever
by johns-in-makeup
Summary: The inner conflicts and romantic escapades of Sesshoumaru Miyazaki, married man of thirty two, violent and aloof, and still, through all of this, in love. [Rated Mature for, oh, well, you know, cursing and statutory rape and violence.]
1. Chapter One: Married With Absence

_A/N_: I know, I know- I haven't even finished the next chapter of Pla_y Fair_. As a matter of fact, I haven't even started it. But oh well. _C'est la vie_.Here's the new one (story, I mean). It's sort of like my old story, _Gravity_, but a lot less vulgar- Rin is sixteen, so if you've got problems with that I'll give you a sound "fuck off" right here and now. I'm feeling sassy today! Also note that one of the parts in the story was yanked from Hunter Thompson's _The Rum Diary_, because I liked it vair vair much.

Throughout this chapter, notice that Sesshoumaru is seventeen.

Throughout his story, notice that he's relatively insane.

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_Chapter One: Married With Absence_

"_The only charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception necessary for both parties._" -Oscar Wilde

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If you could only _see_ the pains I took to remain inconspicuous, to follow every single law I could; I'd never been the type of guy who goes out of his way to stir up trouble, oh no, not me. I'd already caused too much…but if you could only _see_ me zipping down the highway somewhere around four in the morning, looking desperately for _some way out_, it would be no mystery to you why any of this happened. Some way out- from my wife, maybe. From everything; considering buying the _Life on The Fast Lane_ record as I, indeed, zipped down the fast lane. Everything blurred horribly.

New York is a bad place to be if you are on the edge of reason, testing the waters of insanity to see if it suits you; the winter takes you on with the deepest depression, and then bursts into incredibly hot summers, raising tempers and hormones, increasing blood pressure, probably, as well…New York, and the whole East Coast, can never be good for a person with nerves like mine. Mix the noise and the bad crowd and you have a heart attack waiting to happen.

Sometimes there is the thin line which separates man from beast, clear and easy to see. A blaring signal, saying: STOP. WHAT YOU ARE DOING IS WRONG. In flashing red lights, a bright Hollywood sign. Other times, it was invisible as you charged blindly forward (in her words, "Huffah!"), and it was too late when you realized you were fucked.

This time there wasn't anything, no line, and no sight of it afterwards. There was an impossible need to get away from anything I'd known, and there was a sensation somewhere in there. No boundaries, though. No limits. You know when, where to cross.

If you could only _see_ how I tried to steer clear of her- with her French-girl looks, her way of speaking. Her way of moving around. Various public television specials she was forced to watch. The faint smell of watermelon…all those incidents. Indeed. There was no way to stop it. Fate, perhaps.

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Sixteen hours after my wedding I was sitting in a shady bar in the lower East Side, watching the drinks mix. The song playing was slow and heavy on the bass, with the slow tinkle of the piano drifting through. The counter was of polished wood and the glaze of beer stains.

There was no sure way of tracking down a bastard who had just robbed you of your dignity and your life. This was my first marriage, and sure to be Hell on wheels. It had taken place in a large chapel in a murky downtown area; Shrine of the Holy Redeemer, with its pastel windows and the engravings of doves- oh! Redeemer! Is this the price I pay (you bastard)? I knew I shouldn't have gone through with it…

I drank my vodka shakily, occasionally flashing a displeased scowl, and rarely giving a tired smile, just to tell these people I was, indeed, okay. I was frightened to half-death, overly paranoid and feeling an unsteady buzz all around me. I was sure that these men and women, these bar-going nonentities, moving like shadows in the night, were out to get me, to hurt me. After dealing with Kagura, normal human interaction becomes impossible; every human you knew you suddenly see screaming and clawing and cursing through red painted lips. When a man loses his freedom to a whining hussy in a wedding dress, it shakes him up.

The people in this place seemed to understand; they picked this vibe up from me. I could tell by their eyes that they were frightened at me, frayed tux and bloodshot eyes, with a long and rough cut scarring the skin of my right arm. I was like a highway sign, flashing on the dark road: STAY AWAY. Did I look like a criminal? Perhaps. A mob boss, a conman, a murderer? Let them stare; they do what they like, and I do what I like- me, a married man, shaken, not stirred. Sesshoumaru Miyazaki, on the run from a wailing heiress demon.

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I won't go into my past too much. It's never healthy to elaborate on a childhood where you had four bathrooms and a football, in a place where you had a tan year round, where no one could stop you because you were a Model Youth. It was part of my job back in the Boca Raton to be an exemplary young man, generations and generations of illustrious French-Austrian-Japanese blood _spilled_ into me, and it was all I could do to hold that football and slap some suntan lotion on, go to the beach with my rowdy friends.

I sometimes wonder how that would have turned out, if a reporter had come to me on that day I left for New York, with my two suitcases packed with clothes and a couple of hundred dollars in my wallet.

"Tell me, Mr. Miyazaki- may I call you Sesshoumaru? Tell me, then, Sesshoumaru, _why_ are you leaving Beautiful Boca, a place where you are known throughout the area for your intelligence and well-known family, where you have riches and a large house and a sure chance? I mean, everything here is just fine, with all your admirers and safe bet of being married and happy for decades to come, and having wonderful, well-bred children who you will most likely start a family band with in your explosive joy. Am I wrong?"

"No, but…I…well, you see…this place, it, hmm…let's say it makes me…nervous. Anxious."

"…Can you _elaborate_ on that?"

"Well, there is no sure way to explain the feeling…it's like…the feeling a man gets when he is trapped inside an elevator…it rises, but only to a certain point- and yet he was expecting it to go higher. I had to…flee. Out, I had to get out. Does that make sense?"

"Well, ha-ha, Mr. Miyazaki, I appreciate your trying to explain, but you see, I can't very well go to my boss and give him this story. I have to get something, you see-"

"Well, I'd like to help you, but it's inexplicable. I feel like…I feel as if this world is ugly. As if it can't come to anything good. It's nothing tangible. I get…the Fear from the Boca Raton. Is that understandable?"

"I can relate to a level, haha. I lived in- oh, look, Mr. Miyazaki, if I go back to my boss with a story about elevators and 'the Fear' then I'm out of a job. Can't you clarify this? You don't make any sense- leaving this beautiful place is just nonsensical-"

"Goddamnit, what do you not understand! This place is a living Hell! This man Sesshoumaru is not a Model Youth- he went bad after one score and seven years. Somewhere along the line he had the spine to figure out that this place is no good. He doesn't give a damn about his friends or his family. All he wants is Out, Flee. Can't you use that? Something like that?"

"Well, ah, you sound a bit hysterical, Mr. Miyazaki. I'm not sure I can get the story on you."

"Well fuck you then. Get out of my way! Can you not hear my flight being called, you imbecile?"

"You're deranged! You'll end up in Hell! Leaving the Boca Raton! What kind of psychopath are you!"

The kind of psychopath who wants out.

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I was seventeen when I left my home, but home was determined to follow me wherever I climbed. I arrived in New York in mid-fall; the leaves of the trees were crisp and dead, gold and red and orange. Most of them were, in reality, brown- but brown isn't a bold color amidst the warm fall tones that grace your mind.

New York, then, didn't excite me. It never did. I had never had high expectations for this city, but then again, I didn't expect it to have the awful effect it did on me. I bought an expensive apartment overlooking Central Park, nearest to all the things I needed- my office, coffee shops, food. I had New York at the tip of my fingers, but it only gave me a more fulfilled sense of how spoiled I was.

My mother had called me about three weeks after I had boarded that plane, handing me the exciting news that an "old high school chum" of mine was moving to New York, or coming to a visit, or something like that- Kagura Kumo. Now, this wasn't happy news to me- Kagura Kumo was the last person, aside from my mother, that I needed to deal with. She was a pretty girl- long, blown-out, feathered black hair, bright copper eyes, and red lips. I was convinced that she bought red lipstick in bulk- her supply never ended. She was pretty, and pain in the ass to boot.

I was sitting in my apartment, lounging on the couch with a newspaper and attempting to call a client of mine about a closing on a building I owned, when she came knocking at my door.

I had gotten up hastily, and, agitated beyond belief, flung the door open- to see Kagura, arms crossed and scowling impatiently. I stared at her for a moment.

She glared at me. "Are you going to just _stand_ there and gape like an idiot?"

"I intend to," I spat. I regained composure. "Why are you here?"

She rolled her eyes. "_Your_ mother invited me."

"It's not her house."

"It's not mine either," she answered, "but if you're just going to _stand_ there I'll _shove_ my way in. It's freezing, dammit!"

I moved aside. She flashed a newswoman smile at me. "Thanks," she snorted, with a hint of uneasy politeness, and went in, sitting down on the couch and holding her jacket with her.

"Would you like coffee?" I asked, pouring myself a cup.

"Yes," she answered. I poured her a cup and gave it to her, situating myself on the armchair near her.

She exhaled and inhaled, taking in the coffee smell. She smirked and leaned back on the couch. "This is a nice apartment you got yourself, Sesshoumaru Miyazaki. The type of place some girls would kill for."

"Two," I answered, sipping some of my coffee.

She raised an eyebrow. "What'd you say?"

"Two," I repeated. "Two girls. Have killed for it."

She paused, blinking her almost red eyes. "Anyway," she said, taking a greedy swig of the Peruvian stuff, "your mother said we needed to talk. She said something about your wanting to see me. Is that true?"

"Not in the slightest," I replied. "She's spoken to you?"

She scrunched her nose and scowled deeper, repulsed at my bluntness. "_Yes_," she replied, "obviously _you_ haven't been filled in."

"I haven't," I answered. "How long has she been talking to you?"

She leered at me. "Oh, look at _us_. Look, Sherlock, I'm not here to be interrogated."

"I'm trying to find out a decent amount of information," I answered, agitated, "Are you a damned _fool_?"

"Are _you_? You sure _seem_ clueless," she quipped.

"Look," I said, flipping through the newspaper, "aside from your occasional wit, I find you agitating and cruel. If you can't be a little less irritating, you may as well go."

She stared for a minute, alternating between pursing her lips and clenching her fists in sheer anger. She got up in a jerky and almost funny movement, fists at her sides. She threw her jacket on, and said through clenched teeth, "_Maybe I should_. You bastard."

She threw the door open and left. My apartment looked instantly brighter without her in it. A slight smile crept up on me and a heavy burden lifted off me as I looked around in the aftermath- and realized my cup was gone.

"That bitch," I muttered, running to the window in a mad frenzy. I lifted up the heavy and usually stuck window pane and leaned my head out, looking around to see if she was there. I saw her walking hastily away from the building in her red pumps. "Hey!" I shouted, flustered, "My cup!"

She turned around jerkily. She cocked her head at me, as if to say "Oh?" for a minute…And then she lifted up the hand with the cup in it over her head, and, with a sleek and mechanical movement, threw it, high, like some kind of champion dodge ball player. The cup spun and spilled coffee on the sidewalk. Her aim wasn't off- for a second I winced as it smashed against the brick next to my face, scattering into a million white porcelain pieces of ten-dollar coffee cup, raining into the sidewalk. "Fuck," I muttered, and glared down at her. She gave me the finger and walked off. People stared. I saw red. I didn't care who got stuck with the pieces- I cared if someone _didn't_.

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Soon after the incident I received a phone call from my mother. "You made her very upset," she said, chidingly. "I'm very disappointed with your behavior."

"This is ridiculous," I answered, irritated. "If you don't _recall_, Mother, you invited her to my _house_ and thereby _caused_ this string of events. It was your plotting, or lack thereof, that upset the girl, not my predictable actions."

"Blaming your poor old mother," she answered. My mother's tone was always more hard than maternal, stony and jagged as flint. "What _else_ is new. You've always blamed me for everything. But that's beside the point- the point is that that is awful behavior towards your future wife."

I choked on the water I was drinking. "Excuse me?" I inquired sharply.

"Your wife," she repeated. "I know you'll oppose me and rebel against me, but I am your mother and therefore know what's best for my child. I do hope you remember that you are only seventeen years old, Sesshoumaru, and not a full-grown adult."

"Wait- Mother- I think there's someone at the door-" I said, making noise and walking over to the door where no one was knocking. "Holy shit!" I exclaimed. "They're here for me! The goons have come!"

"That is _not_ funny and will _not_ get you out of this conversation," she said, stonily. My mother was one of the only people who I pulled a trick with every so often. "If you wish to be treated as an adult, _Sessh-ou-ma-ru_, act as one. Now, stop this childishness-"

"Ah- no! I paid the rent, I tell you! No! Leave me alone- ahhh!" I slammed the phone down on the cradle and got up, still staid and stone-faced through all this merriment.

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My mother, I knew, would be infuriated with me for a week or two before she started to push harder. She, like Kagura, was plotting, sneaky, scheming, and not worth the energy she wasted. But more importantly, she was unlike Kagura in that she had absolutely no heart.

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When my mother did push, she pushed hard. She was almost like a big playground kid, intimidating and ready to get what she wanted. She irritated everyone around her, aside from me, including Kagura, my father (who she had divorced earlier), and everyone else affiliated with me. The pushing came to a dangerous extreme.

Kagura showed up at my door in late winter, with barely anything on, as per usual- a tight red mini skirt, a white shirt- her calf high boots and black coat. I stared at her for a second, and she at me, like strangers. She cleared her throat. "You gonna let me in?" I paused for half a minute and then moved to the side, and she walked in quietly.

She stood in the entrance and took off her coat. "It's a nice place you've got here, Sesshoumaru."

"So I've heard," I replied, locking the door. I sat down on the same leather armchair. "Do you need something?" I asked. I smelled cranberry vodka as she walked past me.

She sighed, and sat down. She took out a cigarette and lit it with a Zippo. I glared at her. She put it between her lips. "What're _you_ looking at?"

I inhaled and exhaled, frazzled and tense. "Do you _need_ something?" I persisted, biting my tongue to keep from strangling her. Oh, Lord.

She blew a puff of smoke out and I winced. "Your mother is a goddamned annoying woman," she said bluntly.

"So you noticed," I answered.

"Not only did I goddamned _notice_, I'm _haunted_ by it!" she said, balling up her fists and gritting her teeth. "She talks to me every damn day! She won't leave me the Hell alone!" She blinked, and shook her head, smirking. "I see how _you_ got so damned annoying."

"You said 'damn' three times," I pointed out nonchalantly, still bearing a grudge against her for my cup.

She pursed her lips. "Look, pretty boy," she sneered, "the only thing I'm saying is that you have to do something about _your_ mother."

I leaned back in my chair. "Why would _I_ help you?" I asked, snobbishly.

She glared at me. "Because _I'm_ busy taking care of my father."

"Your father?" I asked, leaning forward. Her father was a conniving sonofabitch named Naraku, who closely resembled my mother.

"Well, duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "Do you even _think_? He wants us to get married, too. Don't think _you're_ the only one suffering under a tyrant of a parent."

Jesus Christ- first my mother, and now Naraku. This would never end, and if it did, Kagura and I would have to be married…my head spun. I got up and went to the refrigerator. "Would you like something to drink?" I managed to sputter.

"Don't _give_ me that changing-the-subject bullshit," she snapped. "We need to find a solution and we need to find it now."

"There is no solution," I answered, coolly, and poured myself a drink.

"There is _so_ a solution!" she yelled, standing up. I cringed at the acuteness of her screaming voice, like nails on a chalkboard.

I whipped around. "_Must_ you be so loud?"

"Must _you_ be such an asshole?" she asked, leering. She tossed her hair back exasperatedly. "You don't even seem like you _care_. I thought _you_ were the 'manly-man.'"

"The fact that I don't care doesn't have anything to _do_ with my masculinity," I said, defensively.

She sighed. "Look," she said, frowning, "all I'm saying is that if you _really_ want out of this, then we have to cooperate."

I paused contemplatively. I tapped my fingers on the kitchen counter and shook my glass of soda, staring around for something to say- but the only thing I could say was something offensive. "You can't imagine just _how _much I want out of this."

This time was not like last time, though- this time I could see pain in her instead of real anger. Her eyes reflected an injury done by words, my cruel way of telling her the truth. And for a second, I thought those were tears welling up in her eyes, a crystalline glaze over that red-copper. She bit her lip, and narrowed her eyes at me, and let out a broken, "You _bastard_." She gathered her coat and cigarettes and looked at me impatiently.

I immediately understood, and, in my cold demeanor, got the keys and unlocked the door. I opened it. She looked at me. "You're…this is your last chance," she said stubbornly. I ignored her and went to the living room again. The door slammed shut.

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"Of course she had a crush on you, Sesshoumaru," my mother said, almost comfortingly. "I'm not _that_ stupid of a woman- it would be lunacy to pair _you_ up with a woman who despised you. Because you're a petty boy, Sesshoumaru, and you'd kick a person you didn't like to the ground."

"And it's all genetic," I answered, holding the phone against my cheek nervously. Kagura- that bitch, that stupid woman. I'd kill her. She should have said something- well, it wouldn't have helped her it could, but I would have been less cruel. Or would I? It was all confusing and stressing and now I was a true New Yorker.

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We were married in the spring, when I was twenty and she was nineteen.

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And now here I was, in this putrid bar, stuck with the images of Kagura in her torn wedding dress and winter in New York. Only sixteen hours earlier we had argued and yelled in the apartment- she had torn most of it apart, if I remembered rightly, her own wedding dress included. God knew what the crazed woman would do when I was gone, but right now I didn't care- right now I needed to relax, and clear my mind.

"So what's with the tux?" the fat Hispanic bartender asked, handing me another vodka tonic.

I scowled. "Is that any of your business?" I asked, taking it gladly.

He shrugged. "I guess not. Was there a wedding or something?"

"No," I replied, staring him down and not in the mood after reflecting, "I'm an international man of mystery."

He shrugged again, stupidly, and snorted. "You must've been the groom." A couple of men chuckled.

I frowned. "It's not your place, but if you _must_ know, the bride died on the way to the hotel." Good- mess with them. Set them straight. This was when I was young and immature and in the mood to piss people off.

The bartender's face fell. "Oh, man, I'm sorry- are you serious?"

"Do you think I'm kidding?" I asked, leery-eyed.

He wiped his face with a dishrag. "Oh, man- how'd she- you know- _die_?"

"Car crash," I snorted, and downed another glass. "She died, and I'm dead, as well- and if you don't stop asking me questions, a few more will join us."

He stayed quiet and let me have another three drinks free- a nice man, if he wasn't so ignorant and mildly retarded. I stayed for another thirty minutes or so and drove home, the time nearing four in the morning. I arrived at the apartment at around seven, having stopped for coffee and candy to give the bitch so she wouldn't throw a tantrum. Truth be told, I was, after that incident, expecting her to be shaken up, or ignore me, and I felt somewhat bad after having argued with her on her wedding day and thus forth ruining it.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open quietly, box of chocolates in hand. I walked quietly, in case she was asleep, and crept into the living room.

I looked at her, silently, sprawled across the couch in her pouf of a wedding dress, with her hair down and messy around her face. She must have heard or sensed me near, because she looked up, eyes glazed over and with a dull look on her face. Her lipstick was smeared. I noticed she was holding an almost empty bottle of spice rum. Finally, she spoke. "Oh. It's you."

I was silent, too aggravated to deal with her. Much too aggravated. I tossed the box of candy onto the armchair and went into the kitchen to make breakfast.

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_A/N_: I'm not really sure if all of that made much sense, but I don't really care because it took me a long time to write. I did about three rewrites of it before this, and it's damn well good enough. Whatever. Oh, and, _post scriptum_, the part about the fake interview with the reporter? I took that from Hunter Thompson's _The Rum Diary_.


	2. Chapter Two: A Dinner, A Smile

_A/N_: The most exquisite thing in the world has just happened to me.

_**Review Responses**_

_Priestess-Taisho-_ I'm glad you like it!

_HoshiiNoTenshi_- Haha. Wasn't he a dick in that scene? Enjoy the next chapter.

_Anonymous_ _person_- Happy you like it; enjoy.

_Chew Chew_- I don't like rushing romance. She's in this chapter.

_Starrilight-Hotaru_- Awww. I love you. I've never read any of your stuff, but I think now I'm going to look into it. I'm a hack, and I'm not really that good. Everything that inspires me is good, not me. As long as something inspires you I think you've got it. Ciao for now.

_KokoroOfAnime_- Here's the update!

_Hakuryuu_- Oh, wow…you're so sweet. Like I said before, though, I'm a hack. I don't really write that well. I have to spend three days on a fucking chapter, so I'm not really that good. But people who like it keep me at it, and I'm…well, I'm not really an author. I write something down and I guess it's because I want to share it, and I want to connect to people who understand. Or whatever. Anyway, here ya go! Much love.

_Freaky Krazer_- I think I read something of yours…the one where Rin is the new girl at school and she embarrasses herself horribly in front of delinquent Sesshoumaru…and I liked it! You're a good writer. Here's the update. Enjoy.

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_Chapter Two: A Dinner, A Smile_

"_Hope smiles on the threshold of the year to come, hoping that it will be happier._"-Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Nothing was better from that point on. For the first year, we argued and hurt each other in every way we could find. I became a snide, high-strung, and intolerable jerk, and she became a damnable hussy. Whenever I'd come home it was another man here, another there, one the shower, the others in the cupboards…they ranged from sleazy degenerates to respected senators and came in all shapes and sizes. I started thinking that she was just doing it to make me mad, so I started to leave things around- notes saying, "Honey, please note the doctor about your B.V. (BACTERIAL VAGINOSIS)," and other small, embarrassing things too varied and too cruel to mention here.

There were times she showed some kind of love or some kind of innate dependency, though. They were rare- maybe once or twice during our marriage. But they were there and they showed another side of the rude woman I'd come to know.

It was January of 1994, the new year- and the second year of our marriage. I was at home, not one for big New Year's bashes and other trifles of that kind. I was awake at two in the morning, eyes bloodshot and struggling to keep myself from strangling the jocund nothings partying loudly. I liked total peace and quiet- anything that disrupted this peace and quiet was sure to get shot.

Kagura came flailing in, throwing the door closed carelessly, her skirt torn. She kicked her heels off; I heard the noise and went to inspect whatever she was doing. She looked torn and beat, tear stains running down her cheeks and her hair messy. She stumbled onto the floor. I ran over to help her.

I lifted her by the underarms and dragged her over to a couch. She groaned a little, and tried to fight me off. I pulled harder and managed to lift her onto the edge of the couch, but her dead weight pulled her down and she toppled on me.

I struggled to get up while covering my nose from the putrid stink of- good God, what did she _drink_? It smelled like a rank mix of cheap wine and thick beer, and it covered her like a blanket of fog, an invisible mist over her bright sequined top and bare legs. I tried to push her off, but she resisted. She nestled her head into my shoulder, and said something to the effect of, "You're such a pretty man…"

I glanced at her coldly, trying to decipher what this meant. I attempted once more to push her off me, but it was in vain. She was too much to carry- the extra liquid added to her normal weight, therefore making the task of lifting her nearly impossible. I bit my tongue so as not to say anything out of line and have her start slashing at me.

She didn't slash at me- there was no aggressiveness in her tonight. She buried her head into my shirt and started to sob heavily. I froze, not knowing what to do or how to react- did she do this often? How would one of her millions of boyfriends act? In trepidation I lifted up a shaking hand to put it on her head, allowing it to move down her hair.

My hand on her only caused her to cry harder and louder. Sometime during this scene she sputtered, "I love you!" Now that I think about it, I suppose she only loved me when she was vulnerable, when she was weak, or when she _needed_ somebody. She said it again once or twice and finally fell asleep. I lugged her to the couch and went to bed, trying to figure out why we hated each other so much. We were too much the same- how could we love each other when both of us were uncomfortable with ourselves? We had each other figured out- it becomes a drag when you live with and in yourself.

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Twelve years- that's how long our marriage lasted. Divorce wasn't a plausible solution- it would only cause problems and legal fees. Besides, we didn't even feel as if we were married- I had a certain degree of freedom- not complete freedom- but freedom enough with women, if I wanted any at the time. I also had an expensive apartment and an ongoing supply of money. We had no respect for "the Union;" only the priest did.

Our marriage was like a bomb, ticking ever slowly and agitatedly, until one of us would finally explode. I sometimes could imagine it- she screaming like a banshee and burning the building down, and me trying to end her life with, let's say, a kitchen knife. It was domestic paranoia- you had to watch where you stepped or be dismembered horribly.

At the time, I was in the infamous real estate business- the business of homosexuals and sordid middle-agers. I owned a number of properties in both the city and the suburbs, and I was reeling in cash because of it. Sometimes when you drove around the city you'd see the signs or billboards advertising me- a few words saying how great I was, my name, a cheesy slogan, and then a picture of my face, indifferent and reflecting nothing. I'd smile, sometimes, but that was only when the bastards had enough spine or presumptuous stupidity to force me to. But the point was that, in New York State, I was a real estate king. An embarrassing title, but it made me considerable sums of money, so I was satisfied. The talent was passed on to me from my father. What I lacked was a real passion for the stuff.

Real estate is the reason I met her.

It was 2005 and I was thirty-two. Aside from the million other things I had going on, I had a woman calling me persistently about a house in Queens. It was a three-bedroom ranch, brick and plain, with fairly large rooms. Her name was Charlotte Badeau; her voice was grating and high-pitched, like a bird's. She was offering a fairly high price for the small house, so I had to oblige; we met a couple of times and I sold it to her. She was a pretty woman, or would have been, were she younger.

The summers in New York are horrible- I've already explained the rise in blood pressure. I've made it a point not to go out in summer, unless I absolutely need to. The air is heavy and the heat is unbearable, but the worst part is the humidity- it's an adhesive layer of moisture. People are sweaty and in bad humor in New York City's summers, and it's best not to leave the house, unless you have a death wish.

Charlotte called me up one August morning, bursting sunshine. "Hello? Sesshoumaru?"

"Ms. Badeau," I acknowledged. "Is there a problem with the house?"

Although my voice was filled with irritation, Charlotte was too good-hearted and ignorant to be afraid of it. "Oh, no, it's lovely," she answered. "I just wanted to _know_ if you'd like to come over for a drink, and maybe to, well, inspect it?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Inspect?"

"Well, it's nothing," she answered, "but I am almost sure that there's a problem with the faucets or the plumbing, in general…I just want to make sure nothing's wrong."

"You _should_ be calling a plumber," I said, not wanting to deal with her.

"I know, but the blockhead _I_ know told me that there was nothing wrong, and I simply do _not_ believe it. I can hear the dripping from here!" she replied.

"Well, I shouldn't like to leave you with any problems, Ms. Badeau, but I-"

"Well, isn't it imperative, then, that you come and check it over?" she demanded. She was always stubborn and somewhat thick… "Unless, of course, you have something _better_ to do- that I can completely understand…"

I paused and frowned. Well, I had nothing to do, besides be irritated with my mother's weekly phone call, and have to deal with my pervert associate Miroku…I had nothing to do. "Well, I suppose I _can_ come over…when should I?"

"As soon as you like," she answered. "How nice of you! I'll have a drink ready when you arrive."

>>>>>>>

Humid. Disgusting. Sweltering. I drove to the house and got out, wiping sweat off my brow. I'd be damned if I ever did favors like this again…the smell of mowed grass and summer air hung unbridled around the peaceful suburb. It was too peaceful- all you could hear were some children screaming and a lawn being mowed.

In the driveway there was a blue SUV, trunk opened and revealing a number of boxes and other large items. I walked by it and looked for Mrs. Badeau.

The screen door opened. Ms. Badeau hung down. "Sesshoumaru! What a pleasure to see you!" she said, running down the small steps to me. "Come in! I have that drink!"

I had the drink and did quick inspection of the bathrooms (the faucet _did_ drip, but only because she hadn't closed it tight enough), and was invited to stay longer. I shook my head. "I have to be going."

"Oh, live a little!" she said with a broadening smile, showing the wrinkles around her mouth, "Who wants to go back to banausic old work, anyway?"

The side of my mouth twitched. This woman- Charlotte, whatever her name was- was just asking for a bullet. I looked at her broad smile and suddenly began to get a heavy feeling that this was all an ugly stratagem to get me over here, and to get me to _stay_ over here…She had no husband, from what I knew. "I have to go," I urged, now feeling a nervous tension.

"Well, if you must," she heaved. "I probably shouldn't keep you too long. I make a mean soufflé, though!"

"I'm sure you do," I snapped.

"I'll show you to the door," she said, walking toward me.

In a jerking movement I opened the side door, backhandedly, and flung it open. The movement was quick and anxious, like a caged animal eager to leave. "No, I'm…fine," I answered, and walked down the small staircase.

"Have a good afternoon!" she called after me.

I turned back and nodded. She ran back inside, having remembered something or smelled live flesh to prey on… "Never again," I muttered, and staggered my way to the car.

I was walking just past the blue SUV when a girl, seeming to have appeared from nowhere, walked out from behind it. She was holding a box- full of…books, I think, and a lot of CDs and movies. She wore a checked green shirt and short shorts, only reaching up to her mid-thigh, if even that long. She was thin- her legs were shaped well, and she had wild, wind-tossed black hair, tied into a ponytail at the side. Her eyes were wide and a medium brown; her skin was healthy and an ivory color. She looked natural and healthy and for a moment I caught myself off-guard.

She must have noticed me staring, or gotten tired of it. She grinned at me, widely…It was a broad, impish grin, showing some of her straight teeth. With her box she walked into the house. I turned in her direction.

Ms. Badeau was hanging in the screen door. I didn't know why, but she had come exactly when needed. "That was my daughter, Renée," she said. "We call her Rin for short."

I squinted in the sunlight and nodded.

>>>>>>>>

I went to a bar called Perry's after that and had a long talk with myself while I drank. Here I was, obsessing over some some-teen girl with a hawk-like mother…oh, but if you could only see the way she grinned at me, you would understand.

>>>>>>>>

I left the bar an hour later with a steady buzz. Fuck my clients- I didn't need to see anyone today. Today I needed to go home and relax; lie down and eat some eggs and bacon.

I glanced at the clock upon coming in. I'd been gone for two hours, but there was no sign of life in the house. I walked into the living room and positioned myself supine on the couch. I closed my eyes, when from nowhere I heard heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

Kagura came into the living room, fastening some pearl earrings on. "_You're_ home early," she scoffed, as if it were _appalling_ that I was in my own house.

"You're _home_," I answered, showing similar distaste for her being home.

She pursed her lips. "That's clever," she snapped. She retreated to the bathroom and came back with hairspray; she tied her hair into a high-up bun. "Do we have any money left?"

"Do we? If you don't recall _I'm_ not the one spending it," I answered. "How much do you need?"

"I don't know. I'll get it out of my account," she said. She paused in her spraying and peered at me. "What's wrong with _you_?"

I frowned and sat up. "Does it look as if there's something wrong with me?"

"You look different. Like you've seen something good," she answered, leering suspiciously. She began to spray again. "Whatever. I'm going out." She walked off.

"What else is new?" I called as she left. She gave me the finger and shut the door behind her.

I slammed my head into the throw pillows. Even though I had lived in the Boca Raton, summer took some getting used to. But I _had_ seen something good today. Something almost impossible.

>>>>>>>

A few numb days passed; they didn't feel like anything. No good days, no bad days. I felt like a ghost, too powerless to get out of the drudgery, when Ms. Badeau called me.

I recognized the number on my phone and hesitated in picking it up. There _was_ the ever irritating Charlotte…and I didn't want to be blatantly staring at her incredible teenaged daughter like some filthy pervert. Charlotte would have me locked up for sure, and I wasn't about to degrade myself _that_ much.

But then I remembered that grin, and I slipped. "Charlotte," I greeted, forgetting formality in my regret and nervousness.

"Hello, Sesshoumaru!" she greeted. "I was just calling to inquire as to whether or not you had plans for dinner tonight."

"No…I don't," I answered.

"Good! Because we're having a housewarming dinner, just Rin and I, and we'd like to know if you'd come," she jabbered on. "Rin's just finished making an absolutely wonderful chicken salad with cilantro and lemon…It's a bit _too_ tangy, but, all the same, it's wonderful- and I'm making lamb. Won't you join us?"

I leaned back lightly on my office chair. Well, fuck it, I had nowhere else to go. "Of course," I answered, sounding earnest.

"Oh! Marvelous!" she twittered. "You hear that, Rin? He's agreed! I told you he would." I cocked an eyebrow, curious as to what she was talking about. "Well, why don't you swing by around seven? That'll give you enough time to freshen up."

"Certainly," I answered. I shuffled through papers on my desk, checking my daily regimen, to see if I had anything at seven I had to cancel. "I'll make sure to arrive without delay."

"You're a gentleman," she said, with a coy pride. "Oh! The lamb! I'll see you then. Good-bye!" She hung up the phone.

I laid the phone cautiously on the table as a heavy fear came over me. I tried to get it off my mind that the reason I was going over there was not the chicken salad at all. Salt water trickled to the back of my throat. I got up and got my things and started to walk out when my secretary stopped me.

"Mr. Miyazaki? Where are you going off to?" she asked, pushing her cat-eye glasses down on the tip of her nose.

I whipped around and snapped. "It's none of your business where I'm going!" I barked. A woman poked her head out of a nearby door. "If it _was_ any of your business, I would have sent a personal notification! Do you have any common sense!"

She looked at me in shock, leaning back and with her eyes wide. This wasn't typical of my calm demeanor. I dashed in hasty steps to elevator, where I sank down the wall and buried my face in my hand.

>>>>>>>

The summer nights are much more pleasant than the mornings- though it's still muggy and disgusting you are comforted, sometimes, with a passing breeze. The breeze feels cooler than a blizzard amidst all this heat.

I got out of my car and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again, less patient, more persistent. Still no answer. I began to become irritated- what was she _doing_ that she couldn't hear? Stalking her prey, ripping it with her bare teeth, blood thickening over her ears…I pounded on the door with a white fist, when Charlotte ran to me from the backyard.

"Oh! Sesshoumaru! I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you- we're having dinner on the verandah," she said. She stopped and smiled, wiping fresh sweat beads off her brow. She did look pretty tonight- Charlotte was a thin woman with pinned back black curls and harrowing dark brown eyes. She was wearing a maroon summer dress and strap heels.

My eye twitched. "Certainly," I said, through gritted teeth.

She sauntered to me and linked arms. "You look strapping tonight," she said, smiling, "And I am so glad you could come."

I nodded, my face still deadpan. The veranda had been decorated nicely- outdoor lamps were on the balustrades, and the two had erected a small round umbrella table on one side of it. They were in a good location for eating outdoors; I could feel the breeze without a problem.

Renée was sitting at the table, sneaking some of the salad. I decided then that she was an ordinary but extraordinarily pretty girl, and really nothing more. She was wearing her short shorts again, but this time with a blue peasant shirt, and in those sleeves and scooping neck, the dark blue and small white flowers, I had to seriously strain myself to look away from her.

I sat down, unfortunately, right across from her.

Charlotte served herself a heaping plate of salad and sighed, satisfied. "It's such a wonderful night," she said. She slowly took a forkful of the salad and put it to her mouth, wincing when she took a bite. "Rin, be a darling and ease up on the lemon next time, won't you?"

"Yes, Mom," she answered, coyly and smiling. She had a nice voice, and I picked up a slight curb on the word "mom" to make it sound like "mum."

I followed suit in serving myself a plate of the salad. Charlotte continued to eat and sigh. "I just can-_not_ get over what a nice night it is!" she exclaimed. She laughed. "How is it, Sesshoumaru?"

"Good," I responded. I don't know how she got the idea that it was tangy…maybe some of her taste buds were missing. It was a bit lemony, though…

"I have to agree. Rin's getting better," she noted.

"Oh?" I answered, eating more.

"Yes. You see, Rin here would be a marvelous cook if we broadened her horizons a bit more," she said, looking scrutinizingly at Rin. "She's very good with American food, but I'd like to send her to learn how to cook _de la mode française_…and maybe a bit of Italian food. Spanish food, too- a nice sarsuela would be good. Her mother's too old to learn new tricks," she said gloomily, and served herself more food. "We should have the buffalo wings now. I'll go get them!" She got up and trotted away in the direction of the kitchen.

There was a moment of silence. "The salad is good," I said, taking a bite.

"It's kind of lemony," she observed, taking another bite. I raised an eyebrow skeptically, and tried to analyze that comment. She noticed me and looked up at me, smiling coyly, privately, teasingly. I quickly looked away.

Her mother came back with a tray of buffalo wings. "Here we go! They're quite spicy- I've had two so far." She dropped them on the table with a tinny clank.

We ate, after that, I think,…lamb, and then a sorbet. It went as it had in the beginning- Charlotte chattered meaninglessly, Rin and I ate, and Rin would occasionally roll her eyes or smile or laugh in agreement. Her mother was ridiculously polite in a rich country-club-member way that made you want to rip your hair out every time she said "marvelous" or "gorgeous" or "wonderful." Rin, though, she was good-natured and pleasant in an almost ethereal way. It was hard to explain. She didn't seem as if she noticed anything around her- almost otherworldly.

"I have to go," I said, getting up.

"Oh, do you?" Charlotte said, disappointedly.

"Yes," I confirmed. "Thank you for inviting me."

"We should have dinner again?" she countered.

"Certainly," I nodded.

They both stood up. I shook hands with Charlotte, and then nodded nervously at Rin. She gave me a smile- not coy and teasing, and not the grin she'd first given me. This time it was honest and sincere and exquisite. It was warm and inviting, a smile anyone would remember- something great. Something that everyone had to know about, or else they were missing out on a whole lot. It was a smile for pleasant goodbyes, smiles that tell stories that you couldn't rightly explain because everyone had their own story to tell. I stood motionless for a minute, and then blinked. Our eyes met for a minute. I noticed her face- wide brown eyes and a small, sloping nose that buttoned at the end, lips that looked kissed, healthy hair. I left feeling like the king of the world, and when I got home I listened to "Something in the Air" on the highest volume I could take, over and over, lying on my couch and staring at the ceiling, listening because it was the only thing that could justify that smile.

>>>>>>>

_A/N_: "Life In The Fast Lane-" The Eagles  
"Something In The Air-" Thunderclap Newman


	3. Chapter Three: Fool For Love

_A/N_: And Wow! Reviews. And, Stan Cornyn. This chapter is like a sloth. Nothing much happens. I just need to have a connection between what happened and what'll _happen_. I think the first few chapters might be a little boring...

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_**Review Responses**_

_Kokoro of Anime_- Rin is sixteen. Oh, and yeah, what a nasty man he can be XD.

_HoshiiNoTenshi_- Yeah, Rin's mom is...annoying. And the notes. Tee hee. Thanks.

_Chranze_- Hehe. They're sixteen years apart. Thanks for the review.

_Chew Chew_- Thanks, hee. Here's the new chapter.

_MindIIBody_- Yes, he's a curt kind of talker. What'll happen...read and find out! Thanks.

_Starrilight-Hotaru_- I like Kagura, personally, and she'll be a big part of upcoming stuff...and thanks. Well, I'm lazier than lazy. Triple-lazy I guess. And. Yeah, it's kinda like Gravity, because Rin has the same persona basically...

_HawkAngelXD_- Thanks! Read on.

_Inconsequential_.- Yes, well, I think I've lost the whole character portrayal thing...maybe it went right past me. I wish I had it- or maybe it's a slow development. Anyway thankyou for the review and you stay classy.

_Silentxangel_- Oh, Rin's sixteen. And, naw- the future's a secret. Tee hee. Also, Rin and Sesshoumaru get to know each other more a little later on; for now it's just his crazystupid infatuation.

_Real Anime Lover 300_- Thanks! Here's the update.

_Chickenmonster_- Oh, man, thanks...I hope this doesn't dissapoint you (it would dissapoint me if I were a reader. Pish.) He's a pretty thinking kinda person. Anyway, yes! Here's the continuation.

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_Chapter Three- Fool For Love_

"_...he sits round, trying to make spaghetti look tense.  
__  
'Pish tosh,' we say, and 'Yellow journalism.'"_

-Stan Cornyn, "Epic Sloth" from _Happiness is Dean Martin_

Some weeks passed; I did nothing that can be easily recalled, but I remember an odd sensation of numbness, an empty, black-and-grey feeling ringing, vibrating through my limbs, my head...It was as if all thought, all reason, all feeling had just up and left me to a putrid stinking instinctual existence, like an animal, only living from day to day, _finding_ ways to live from day to day...Yes. I felt again as I felt for three quarters of the time that had passed during my marriage.

My marriage hadn't left me altogether. Of course not; no matter how far I went from home Kagura was always the nagging voice in the back of my head- "You're a _homo_-" "You're not _doing_ it right-" "I'm a miserable bitch who needs to suck off other people's pain in order to live-" right-oh. But it wasn't as if she lowered my self-esteem or ever made me want to doubt myself- she was only a nagging reminder of my own antagonism, irritation with _everyone_, and ultimately my own misanthropy and inability to communicate with lousy people on an everyday basis- Good _Lord_- talking like this, I should kill myself...

I recall one morning when I was lying, as usual, on the couch, bored. From the bedroom I could hear the clicking of Kagura's worn-out heels on the hardwood floors above the melodramatic blare of some re-run of _All My Children_...I had been watching the show lately; I knew Brooke's 1976 wild teendom to JR's drug use up and down, like the palm of my hand. I was so accustomed to my own tragic loserdom then that looking back on it I am thoroughly frightened...

The clicking of her heels came louder, closer, until, at a very close range, the noise stopped. I paid no attention to the pause; but the longer it dragged out the more I sensed the prescence of her behind me, and I had to look back to see what the Hell she was just _standing_ there for. I turned; she was standing, staring at me with folded arms, looking both impatient and pensive, as though something were on her mind. "Yes?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I need you to do something for me," she bursted out, rehearsed as if she'd been thinking of saying it for some time. She looked at me, and then looked away, brushing hair away from her face. She looked at me again, as if she suspected I didn't get what she was saying. "Like, as a favor," she added, looking at me flatly, speaking in dumb tones.

"I know what you mean," I replied hastily, more like snapping. I paused, shifting on the couch, onto my arm, and looking up at her. "What is it that you need?"

"I- uh," she started, brushing another strangely stray hair from her face, "It's about a relative. I need you to pick up my nephew from school." She seemed pensive, as if the topic made her antsy...well, she had reason to be antsy about it- I had trouble with both her relatives and children...

"And how old is the child?" I asked, lying supine again with my hands folded behind my head, looking at her upside-down.

She rolled her eyes as she flitted around the room. "He's, I dunno, somewhere between thirteen and thirty-six," she said, fixing her earrings and something in her purse. "Like I give a shit. Could you just pick him up? I can't because I've got _stuff_ to do."

"Stuff, or people?" I asked, nonchalantly, rolling my eyes in mockery.

"_'Stuff_ or _people_?" she imitated, making her voice irritatingly parrot-like. She rolled her eyes again- a choice expression of the day? "Oh, your wit is _so_ grand, _King_ Sesshoumaru. Do you _ever_ stop being a jerk?"

"Only if I feel it is my kingly duty to do so," I replied, sighing so as to accentuate the message.

"Just pick the little sucker up at 2:30," she answered, ignoring me, sounding far away as she went to get her coat from the closet and her keys from the shelf in the kitchen. "And try not to be late, o-_kay_?" she added, with expectancy, I guess, toward my habit of sleeping in. "He'll be the brat with freckles and bushy hair. Lanky, sort of. I left the address on the Dry-Erase board. Call me if you forgot how to read."

"Who said I was going in the first place?" I barked as she opened the door.

"Thanks _honey_," she chimed sweetly, nauseatingly.

"I do important things, you know! I have business to take care of!" I yelled- but it was too late. She'd already closed the door. Smug bitch...

I again turned on my side and lay, staring at the ceiling. And then I had a drink and fell into a blank, peaceful sleep...

-------

I woke up some seven hours later, groggy and in some kind of greasy, cold sweat, my eyes and nose feeling like they were too small, too tired and numb, for my face...I looked around. The sunlight was glaring loudly, brightly, and...what time was it? I sat up, looking around to find the damn cable box, which turned out to be right in front of me. I couldn't see it, though; the goddamned sun was making it glare. I squinted and scowled and went to go clean my face.

I walked around the house for a while, proceeding in my day by making myself a drink, vodka tonic, splash of lime, no ice...also, I sat and watched TV for a bit. I wondered to myself how much time I had missed at work. A lot, I supposed...

The drink ran out, so I got up and went back to the kitchen again. When I went to the refrigerator, I noticed that someone had written something on the Dry-Erase board- uncommon in the household. I peered closer at it. The red, shorthand letters scribbled out a message:

"_School-_

_Mary Gate of Heaven_

_Ozone Park_

_104-06 101st Ave._

_2:30 **NO LATER**"_

...I stared at it blankly, as if it were a foreign language, frustrated and confused as to what the connected sticks in the form of "letters" and "numbers" meant (perhaps the drinks were getting to me...). And then I remembered- I was supposed to pick up that little brat at his school...It couldn't be too late. It couldn't possibly...to affirm this supposition I went to look at the microwave and...was instantly proven wrong.

"_Call Me If You Forgot How To Read_."

"Jesus Creeping Christ!" I swore, almost tripping over myself to get my suit jacket and wash my face again, worried that I would look- oh, I _knew_ I would look like some kind of alcoholic pervert, some kind of Aqualung, indeed...Jesus Christ! How could it be four-fucking-thirty?! I only slept six, seven hours...I hustled over the sofa and the packages- "fucking _packages_!"- on the floor- what the fuck were fucking packages fucking doing on the fucking _floor_?! Not fucking opened, just fucking _lying_ there! Damnit, she'd kill me, she'd prove _herself_ right, she'd _win_...that could not, and would not, happen. It had to stop...I bounded out the door and locked it with slipping fingers, almost dropping the damn things in the process...and then found I'd forgotten my wallet, my car keys, my liscence...so I fumbled with the keys to let myself back in and, swearing, gathered my things, put on my sunglasses, fumbled again with the keys, locked the door, pushed an old man out of the way aggressively, cursing, while sprinting, rushing down the stairs, tripped over the front porch, over a black stray damn cat, stepped on something- yogurt and pita bread?!-, got in the car, started it up, slammed the door _hard_, stepped on the gas, got myself to the school...

...And forgot the address halfway there. I stopped on the way at some hick gas station to get directions from a man who knew only half-English- "Where is Saint Mary Gate of Heaven?" "Osssssone Parrrrrrk."-, his language composed of snake's _s_'s and double-rolled _r­_'s. After shouting promptly crude insults- "You bastard! Who ever made you come to New York? We don't accept foreigners here!"- I finally undertood him, and, muttering a grudging thank you, I sped off, the car screeching into the street. Desperately and almost hopelessly frustrated I slammed my index finger down onto the power button of the dashboard radio. I think I had it on that public college radio station...that song by the Chiffons came on- "One Fine Day." I liked the song and it didn't stress me out, so I kept it on. Feeling giddy I turned the radio up higher, until I was blasting it along the backstreets of New York. Hell, I didn't care. Anyone could try to beat me up. I'd probably get raped listening to music like that, but I didn't give a particular damn at the moment. My car. My life. Fuck everyone else- except that brat Kagura wanted me to pick up. I prayed mentally that he hadn't been picked up by some super-morphed stock-market pedophile with a hunger for young boys on the way home...oh, _God_, no, I _prayed_ that wouldn't happen...

In the middle of the song I pulled up to the school, a flat, tan, squat monster of a building towering over the streets. It was prestigious, in its own, street-tough sort of way. It reminded me vaguely of an all-girls school in Jamaica I used to drive by every so often on my way to business- what was it? Mary Louis, or something, or so I was told by sources- the girls who went there who talked to me sometimes in cafes near there, my wife- who, being an alumni of Saint Agnes, told me they were "lesbians and snobs," which I believe she said because Mary Louis kicked ass in athletics _and_ academics. Nonetheless Saint Mary Gate of Heaven was a fairly prestigious looking school, solemn and strange to me, as if it had a somber sort of nun's dissaproval, the way one of those hooded dykes would look at you with shaking head and clicking tongue. It seemed, to me, that it _knew_- that, as it looked down on me, it knew just what I had done, just what I _been_ in my life. It seemed as though the school had the eyes of God himself, and it knew where you were going when you died. Hell, with the look it was giving me I was sure to go to Hell.

I cruised slowly by the school, peering out the tinted windows beneath dark sunglasses. There were religious statues in the bushes- these goddamn fanaticists- and everything was cut to a neat aesthetic primness. I drove around, when I saw a buzzing group of maybe twenty students gathered outside the premises. I pulled over and looked around- I saw- well, there were blonde girls who probably worked for the school papers, brown-haired boys who were on the football team- real scrawny kids on the A/V club, the kind I used to pick on- overweight girls who "don't care about appearances" because they know theirs is already too far gone...a group of attractive looking girls carrying books, smiling and everything, one of whom I found familiar...and then I looked over at the fence, where a scrawny boy was leaning alone against. I peered closer, wondering if that was my man- it looked as though it were. He was lank, scrawny, with a look about him that was either extremely tall or too short. He had the sort of face I wouldn't think twice about slapping, a soft, ivory baby face dotted with misplaced freckles too reminiscent of adolescence to be on a high school kid of his apparent age. His hair was bushy, black, piled up in some way. He had Kagura's nose. I knew it was the kid, so I rolled down the window and craned my head out. "Get in," I said, calmly, forgetting the fact that he probably didn't know who the Jesus creeping jewshit hell I was, and would probably promptly call the cops on me for attempting unscrupulous and unheard of things on young, innocent boys.

Interestingly and stupidly enough, he, in an awkward sort of motion, gave me a look as if he had just woken up or realized that a large black car with tinted windows blasting doo-wop music had, indeed, pulled up in front of him, and sprawled his way to the car, a mess of jumbled and confused limbs finding their ways all over the place. He jerked open the passenger seat door and slid in. His movements were awkward, nervous, clumsy, scared. He seemed to be no more than twelve but his physique and the faint hair on his upper lip suggested otherwise- maybe fifteen, sixteen? Had no one taught this kid how to fucking _shave_?

"Where's Aunt Kagura?" the kid asked, his voice a strange harmony of ups and lows and scratch and smooth, the mixing of a thousand-pitched flutes in an awkwardly charging melody that followed neither a distinguished pattern nor conventional musical laws. Going through puberty- what a gag.

"Never mind that," I replied, rolling up my window and locking the doors, "How did you know who I was?"

He paused, awkwardly, flushing red as if he didn't know what the Hell to say. More and more gradually the brat was getting on my nerves. "You're Uncle Sesshoumaru, right?" he asked slowly, cautiously. I nodded a "yes" and he was no more reassured. "I remember you from last Christmas. You came to our house and brought Christmas presents- with Aunt Kagura- right?" I nodded again, hardly remembering through my haze of vodka and five-o-clock blues, and shifted gears, pulling in a slow cruise into the street.

"I remember you- you're Kochiro, right?" I asked, stopping at a stop light I hadn't seen before.

"Ko_haku_," he corrected, in that geeky-stupid flute harmony of his. It was like his throat has bunches of holes in odd-mixed up places and made his voice whistle in ways it shouldn't. I had never gone through that awkward phase, and if I had I'd clearly shut my mouth, so I wondered why he couldn't do the same.

I glanced around the scenery to see what I could take and meditate on, when I saw the same gaggled group of attractive girls walking across the street. I looked about them- they must have been the pretty-girl group. There was a dark brown haired Jew girl who topped all of them in height- in fact had a height that I could make akin to the Incredible Hulk- who was leggy, twiggy, with dark hair and a distinguished nose on her indomitable face. Then there was one with average height, who had pulled back blonde hair and a slightly awkward nose but a stupidly accommodating face. Then in the middle was one who looked tiny and petite compared to them, fragile and feminine but also strong and dominating, with milky ivory skin and black windswept hair and, she was laughing, and...that's where I knew her from. Renee- Charlotte's daughter- even pretty in a school uniform, walking and laughing with friends but looking as though she were enjoying herself. Then she must have saw the car, must have spotted it, because she turned her head to it and smiled her glorious smile, that grin, that sincerity and girlishness that was...I stared back, did nothing- the windows, God, the windows were tinted, she may not even know it was me- but then again why would she smile to a stranger? Was she really that much of a heartless, reckless vamp? Or was she really that innocent? No, she must have seen me, must have...

"Green light," were the two words that woke me up from my strange dazey slumber.

I looked at the kid, as if I didn't understand. He looke back at me. "Green _light_!" he urged, motioning toward the traffic light in the intersection. If he wasn't my nephew I swear I would have bashed his annoying head against the dashboard- and the movement would be so easy to do, so sleek...and the tinted windows helped, as well.

I muttered something underneath my breath and stepped on the gas pedal, sneaking a glance at the girl as I passed them...but soon we were somewhere else, a whole other place, some backroads Little-Neck type place, small and unassuming of the real dangers of New York- an ethnic maid was coming out of a laundromat and making her dismal way back home to her master. I suspected her employers were white, probably, or black, and that they lived in an immensely incredible townhouse and were Amazing with one another each day in their luxury and back-town morals...

"You look like you're in a daze, Uncle Sesshoumaru," the brat replied, Ko-whatever-his-name-was. I guess I must have had a spacey look on my face or something but...I asked him what he meant. "I dunno. You look like you saw something good. Something happen?" He cocked his head a little in curiousity, looking at me. For once his voice was comfortable and he seemed as near a man as he could be at that age and with that kind of voice so I was ultimately put at some sort of ease, as well.

"Who were those girls that we passed on our way from the school?" I asked, pressing slow on the break at a red light.

"Girls?...Oh, they were Jerry, and Cindy," Kohaku replied, seeming to be looking at the top of his brain which appeared to me to be full of holes, leaking out what little fluid his adolescent mind had to begin with. He suddenly smiled, smiled wide. "And Rin." I shot a glance at him- thank God he couldn't see the look I gave him underneath the sunglasses- that vicious, narrow-suspecting kind of protective look that told anyone to back off. Then he'd surely scream for the cops, and I'd be all done for...

But still he kept grinning. In fact, the grin got wider, and his somewhat thin eyebrows raised. "She's _hot_, right?" he said, bursting with energy and suddenly turning to me in a faulty, awkward, jerking movement, his hand on the back of the seat and his whole body turned toward me as I stepped on the gas pedal at the green light. "Man, she's so beautiful...I mean, I'd like to take _her_ out sometime...and-"

"Are you wearing a seatbelt?" I asked abruptly, wanting to get off the topic as soon as I could...if I didn't I feared I would have maybe strangled him...

"Hmm? No," he responded, looking at me as if I had just gotten his gender confused.

"You should be," I replied, calmly, as we slowly approached the yellow light- it was all about timing, and the timing could not be off...

"Huh? Why? I'm six_teen_!" he exclaimed in protest, as all difficult teenagers do, with a tone that whined up at the end of the sentence.

Suddenly, as the red light had _just_ turned, and we neared it ever-so slowly, I _slammed_ my foot down on the brake, halting the car to a sudden and jerky stop, reeling both of us forward toward the dashboard in sheer momentum. However, as I was seatbelted, I stayed where I was...but the kid had different places to go- he almost flew forward, slamming his shoulder and then his chest into the dashboard, one leg stuck in the space between the dashboard and the seat and one leg twisted along the seat cushions. He let out a surpised, "Ow!" and then continued to continually groan in continuous pain.

"That's why," I replied, making a left at the next intersection and speeding off in any given direction.

-------

"He told me you creeped him out."

I rose an eyebrow and looked at Kagura, who, after starting the conversation on a bad note, was continuing even worse, hand on her hips with an impatient foot tapping on the hardwood floors. I bit my lip. What could I say? I must have scared the little shit- black-tinted windows and Motown music wasn't very comforting when you considered the circumstances. "I- I thought he would recognize me," I said, stammered, morelike, trying to make an excuse for what I thought she was accusing me of.

"Of course he _recognized_ you, you dumbass! How could he not recognize you! You're six feet tall and you have a tinted black _car_, for God's sake!" she said, stamping her foot and obviously unleashing some pent up anger...I could imagine her, driving home at Mach speed, her sister calling her, telling her that her son was having heart pains, slamming down on the brakes and pedals at each light, preparing to kill me...now her heels slamming, maybe ready to break. Then I'd have to buy her new ones from Prada and oh dammit...finding me at home on the couch with an ice pack on my forehead...shit...

"Then what are you complaining about?" I asked, more like groaned, under the pillow. I had a raring headache from the strange combination of his incessant teen talk and the whistles of his voice, included with the vodka and the image of the girl...and the blaring television.

"My fucking _nephew_ has fucking _chest pains_! He said you _slammed_ down on the fucking brakes and sent him _flying_ into the fucking _dashboard_!" Kagura answered, slamming her foot down again, making me wince with the sheer sound of the impact. One little scratch on my hardwood floors, one big stamp toward three-hundred dollar Jimmy Choos...Jesus fucking Christo..."And it doesn't help that you were two hours late! All the while _hurting_ him! You think I don't get the blame for that! Well? _Hmmm_?!" There was a pause.

"...It was a very necessary measure taken in order to show him the importance of safety on the road," I said, simply, rearranging the scene to form logic and sense, to fit my alibi nicely, of course, I could twist the situation to my advantage..."Think of it as a valuable lesson in life. I mean, Sweet Jesus, without that knowledge the kid would never make it in the real world roads. I helped him, for Jew's sake. Thank me, don't lecture me. In essence I've saved his life, quite eloquently at that, and I did it in two minutes, or perhaps maybe less. Thanks to me he's not dead and won't be anytime soon and you can bet on that." Come to think of it, I was right- in fabricating and elongating my story I had found truth in it all. His chest would probably hurt for months- that kind of impact would do it perfectly for a couple of months, give you a cold, numb feeling that made breathing heavy, difficult, and undesirable for at least three months to come; I'd know- I used to drive without my seatbelt and then one snowy New York night got into a freak accident that split my arm open and had the aforementioned effects on me- but he would at least learn something. I was a champion, a hero. Of course, as usual.

...Kagura of course did not think so. For a moment she stood there with a dead look on her face, strained and flat but on the very straight strange edge of breaking into a red-faced maniac tribal scream, ready to kill me, or something. She bit her quivering bottom lip and then stammered, with a straight killer's face and a raw blink, "You fucking _ridiculous asshole_."

"Ridiculously safe on the road, of course," I said, pushing my luck as far as it could...usually I was in the habit of doing that to choice figures in my life; mostly as an act of rebellion. My estranged half-brother. My wife. My stone-cold mother. Any boss or teacher or lab partner that I've ever had that was male or old. I had the habit of pushing the envelope with people such as these, especially in horrid situations. In truth I was and still am a bit of a brat, but some times are cause and call for some measures.

She paused. Her lip quivered; but as a member of high society she had always been taught to carefully maintain composure, under the worst of circumstances, most likely to get the upper hand- not something she normally did, but no bother. "You scared him! Brutally! One minute he's talking about the girl he has a _crush_ on and the next he's writhing in pain! You moron! You scared the fucking shit out of him you stupid fucking jackass!" Another stomp. Shit.

"How, again, did I '_scare_' him, pray tell?" I asked, sitting up acutely and raising an eyebrow at her...then proceeding to rub my aching head in exhaustion.

"Oh, uh, let's see, your car is jet _black_ and has tinted _windows_," she answered, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling, as if it were the strangest question and the stupidest one I'd ever asked.

"I don't particularly see any _frightening_ about one such situation," I said, rolling my eyes likewise to her.

She stared at me with a dead-on look. "You were blasting the _Chiffons_," she said, coldly. Well, it was obvious; I was blasting music by some would-be Staples Sisters band in a tough-guy's black car, speeding to a school and telling him to _get in_. I could see where she was coming from; however, on the other hand, I could never let her win or tie me, so agreeing was a bound no.

"How did he know who the Chiffons were?" I asked suspiciously, cocking one eyebrow and propping my back further against the arm of the sofa, thinking about that...was this kid fucking _gay_? I wouldn't be too surprised, either way. He _looked_ like a sperm recepticle...no matter, then...

She paused again, biting slightly at her lower lip. "You are _so_ fucking _stupid_. How the fuck should I know! Why is that even important!"

"Well, I should be worried- both gay _and_ no road safety sense? This child will _die_ before the age of eighteen," I answered placidly. Yes, go ahead. Push the envelope until it rips, far as it can go. And add a small aside- "If I were you I would be lecturing him on the right ways of social interaction."

"You- are- a- _bastard_," she sputtered, as if in disbelief.

"Completely fatherless," I agreed, nodding and folding my hands behind the back of my ever-knowing head, for some reason in a youthful mood to tease at her. I could feel my tie loosening around my neck; I'd worn a suit today, for no particular reason except to look respectable and high-end and reasonable; the proof of this was in a shiny black blazer hanging over a fashionably angular IKEA chair.

"Did your _mother_ put up with _this_ when she had you?" she breathed, eyes widened to dangerousness. "God. _That_ would explain why she's such a bitch-"

"Exactly, and it runs in the family- only my inherent bitchiness is calmed and soothed at once by moving pictures, such as those on a _television screen_," I answered, craning my head around her for emphasis, "So I advise you move out of the way."

She paused. I could see impatience manifested in the way her lower lip quivered as she bit down on it, trying to keep from beating me or strangling me or piercing me with her heels, or something like that. "You just- you just make fucking _sure_ that I'm not around when you're sleeping," she said, slinging her bright red snakeskin purse over her shoulder by the strap.

I rose my eyebrows in a slight motion, and as she retreated into the flatly modern bedroom I twisted myself toward the back of the couch, following her trail with my voice coming after her, "I'll just do it with one eye open, then."

-------

The next day I woke up with a fright; the television was blaring, for some reason, shouting the curt pops of machine guns rounding about over and over and then coming back into earshot.

"Holy Shit!" I yelped, falling off the couch with a vengeance, the sharp angled toe of my loafers coming into contact with the hard floor, _slamming_ my toe onto the ground and keeping my foot erect while the rest of me crashed into the floor; one of my more ungraceful moments, and I prayed to God that no one was around to see it...I pressed my palm calm against the floor and got up with a push, dusting off my button-down shirt of any dust I might have imagined would be there.

My head hurt. What had happened last night? Ah yes. After the argument I'd watched the television for maybe fifteen seconds, and then picked up the television guide and read that; and then I found a college history book lying on a bottom shelf and read that...I could feel my eyelids closing and a pressure coming down on my head, making it drift lazily from side to side, so I got up from that cursed couch and made myself a drink, trying to stay awake...and that hadn't helped at all, so I washed my face and brushed my teeth and fell asleep to the humble buzzing drone of a summer nighttime Elvis special- _King Creole_, a film I remembered from my adolescence, and it gave me nightmarish visions of colors while I slept...I wondered who had put the volume so high. Of course- Kagura, Queen of Deviant Plots, Mistress of Malice...fucking wench.

_A Bridge Too Far_ was now blaring on the television; I could hear rubble falling as I yawned and went into the kitchen. The volume didn't bother me- I spent most of my days like this, when I wasn't at work. I hadn't been to work in...how long? Three days, maybe? Four weeks? It was beginning to be hard to tell.

James Caan's face was expanded to a horrific pore-revealing extent, and I opened the freezer for ice...my eyes wandered up. The Dry-Erase board was normally extremely barren; empty as an atheist. But now there were purple and red scratches connecting on the white, a stern message from Kagura:

"_Mary Gate of Heaven_

_You owe me_

_Pick up brat around 3:15 (he has a club)_

_**DON'T** be **late**."_

Again? Who the Hell did this little brat _belong_ to? Who would leave a child like _that_ alone? It seemed some people were seriously mentally demented, but it was of no consequence to me- no doubt she was expecting for me not to go, to be grudging against her- if I didn't go then she would win...But if I did go, I'd prove myself right- I _was_ a good person, goddammit...besides, I _did_ (rather reluctantly) owe her one...and it was only 11:13 on the microwave; I was not running late, and I could even take a shower...

I was cruising over to the school at around 2:15, with my sunglasses on; it was a peaceful, hot afternoon. The sun was sifting softly through the blue tint of the windows and showing the dust floating solemnly in the car air. The air freshener was waving back and forth; and it was a Super 70s Weekend on the classic rock station. They were playing "Stuck in the Middle With You"; I had it on a peaceful rumbling melodic level of volume, and I had my hand on the steering wheel slightly. I was planning to stop at a deli and get a sandwich first, have breakfast; and then drive by the girl's school; then by the secretarial school; take _that_ way to the residential neighborhood that branched into St. Mary Gate of Heaven. It would be a peaceful ride.

It was, in essence; I decide to do a drive-through at a local ToGo's and then I drove by the secretarial school, finding my time running out quickly. When I pulled up to Mary Gate of Heaven, "Tangled Up In Blue" was playing softly on the speakers. I was listening intently; this had always been a Good Song.

I was drifting off when 3:30 came along. "What the Piss?" I grumbled to myself, craning my head over the dashboard to see the school sidewalk better; what in the name of _God_ was keeping this mentally retarded child? Bad enough that he had _no_ motor skills and hardly _any_ common sense, but now he was ruining _my_ morning with his senseless retardation...in more than one sense...I exhaled sharply, bringing my fingers to my forehead and wincing; there was a headache and a stressful heat coming up into my senses.

...and 3:52. Where in The Fuck was this stupid string beany shitfaced moronic kid? Every minute seemed a season, and my patience was slowly running out.

Perhaps Kagura had...tricked me. I could see why she would; ruin my plans for the day, just to make sure that I Never Messed With Her Again. Well, we would _see_ to that- we'd _see_ just how _triumphant_ she would be when I was setting the school on fire. But it was brick- maybe an explosive would better do the trick...that vengeful woman. I'd break her heels later just to spite her.

I was staring into space by now, trying not to notice the passing minutes; my vision blurred into the greens of the bushes outside and the grayish statue that embraced the face of the school with a cold maternal authority; the virgin was not smiling on my evil thoughts. She could hardly _do_ something like _that_...

A sway of skirts; blurred navy pants; more students were pouring out now, but they seemed to belong to some sort of school function. Koh-...whatever his name was, he was supposed to be out at 3:15; what could _possibly_ take half an hour longer? He was far too lanky to be on a sports team; and almost no chess game was _this_ interesting...

The doors were opening, and people were coming down the stairs. A short man with a red patterned tie and a briefcase (briefcases always puzzled me) walked by; it was looking in his fast direction that brought to my attention a familiar figure, standing lonesome by the entrance.

Renee. With an illegible smile she graced the door and her dark hair swished in the wind; my legs went numb for a moment, the pricking sensation through my knees; and my senses heightened painfully, to the point of being dog-keen.

Well, why not talk to this beautiful girl on this day? Perhaps I'd ask her about the runt. I wasn't sure if she was in close enough proximity to see through the dark tint of the windows, so I rolled the window down and leaned almost invisibly over the shift, honking the horn slightly. It caught her attention; she regarded me with a surprised look and a slightly wry slightly surprised smile, wide brown eyes...I tensed up for a moment and inhaled sharply, a heated feeling coming over my arms and up my shoulders, to the top of my head; my torso felt hot, and my face was prickling numb. I lifted my hand up and gestured for her to come over, if a little too eagerly.

"You're Renee, aren't you?" I asked, looking straight ahead, only turning my head slightly to her.

"Yep. You're Sesshou-maru," she said, as if the name was far in her mind.

"Yep. Have you seen Ko..." My mind, for a moment, went blank; I stared straight ahead and then silently turned to her for an answer. She waited patiently. "A stringy kid," I said, choosing my words carefully, "Bushy hair. Freckles...Ko..."

"Kohaku?"

"Yes, that's it. Coral. Well, have you seen him?"

"I think he had some kind of film club today," she answered thoughtfully, and the look on her face for a moment sent a shock through my veins- eyes rolling up to the thick lashes, her lip slightly bitten, her nose looking for some odd reason more appealing than usual...I needed to stop this. It was getting out of hand; she was no more than eighteen, and I was getting to old for the law to pardon me anymore. There was no more leeway, no more elbowroom, at thirty-two years old; the law no longer looked at you with scorning endearment, or fond remembrance. There was no forgiveness and I needed to get the message to my groin before I got in trouble. "But a red car picked him up at around two-thirty."

Two-thirty...wait a minute. What in God's name...so she _had_ tricked me. Revenge was best served on a cold plate; my head spun and wrapped around the concept for a brief moment, and then I looked back up at her. Kagura, that- I'd stab her. My tolerance for her constant tricking was slowly dying away, and it would only be a matter of time before the next screaming argument...besides, she _ruined my day_...

Oh, the Hell with it. "Well. Whatever," I grumbled inaudibly, slowly. I looked up at her; was she alone? She didn't live around here, so if she was going home she'd have to be taking the bus...but why was she still around here? "Are you alone?" I asked, hesitantly- and then, watch; the police would drop down from the treetops, screaming that they'd caught another one of them Dirty Rapers, and with sirens and megaphones they'd beat me to the ground and steal my car as she grinned with amusement.

"Yes," she answered, simply. The brevity of her answers was surprising- girls her age usually had an _insatiable_ need to speak, and her knowing silence was more powerful than her words...indeed, she was an intimidating force to deal with on a daily basis...

"Do you need a ride? Get in," I said, clicking the locks up. Perhaps I was being a bit eager...it was strange, how eager I was to impress her- especially since, only a few weeks ago, I had decided that she was nothing but a pretty girl...how wrong I'd been, I suppose, or maybe it was just surprise at her simplicity after dealing with dragons for so long.

"Yeah," she answered, and something in my stomach lept up triumphantly; if I was capable of smiling, I would have been grinning ear to ear...but alas I have no soul.

Well, enough of that. "Fool For Love" by Sandy Rogers was playing on the radio, and I turned it up a little, looking over to Renee as she got in. For a moment I was perturbed; what sort of girl took rides from strangers? Well, not strangers, but...older _men_? I wondered if she was getting at something, but the thought was quickly erased from my mind as she waved at another girl who was crossing the street.

"You live in the Bayside house, right?" I asked, looking at her.

"Uhmm-hmm," she nodded, reaching in her bag for something.

I paused, looked ahead; we came to a red light and I looked over to see what she was doing. Silence presided over the car, but it was far from awkward; it was calm and it left room for the music. She was putting on foundation in the mirror above her seat, trying to cover a small scar on her cheek. Her hair was bigger than usual- it had been a little more humid than normal today. Or, more properly, how would I know? I had seen her, in my life, a total of four times...my thoughts were more jumbled than usual; but for some reason her presence had an age-old comfortability, like a sisterly presence. Perhaps it was all in my head...

"_...He was standin' up on the bride's side-  
Yelling his objections at the groom...  
The blushing bride was my bestfriend,  
She turned around and to him said,  
'Yes, you were my only sunshine then..."_

And we rode off. It was simple, but for some reason that is now beyond me things began to complicate faster than mercury...but no matter. It was the end of summer and the Super 70s weekend was playing just the right soundtrack. It was strange, also, I thought, how the sunlight glowed against her hair.

-------

_A/N_: _One Fine Day_- The Chiffons

_Stuck in the Middle With You_- Stealer's Wheel

_Fool For Love_- Sandy Rogers

I believe it's completely obvious that I didn't know how else to end this. Also, I like the parts where he's alone better. The chapter was fine up until the second Kagura part. Anyway happy Diwali! I think I'll do a chapter for Diwali. In _Play Fair_, as well; and besides I haven't forgotten _Play Fair_, it's in development. Next chapter they go to a restaurant with Miroku! And then I'll do Diwali. And Hell why not do it in _Paranoia_ (also in development)? I like the culture; and anyway good-bye for now and have a very very _fiii-neh_ day.


End file.
